Twilight Time (unfinished)
by SCUZ
Summary: This is just a test on how the story is coming along so far. Feel free to add comments or thoughts about it. R for language and violence.


Lyla walked into the small town of Gradysville, paying attention to every detail. The burned out buildings, cracked roads and otherwise ruined scenery of this post-war town fascinated her. Living in a vault all her life, she had little opportunity to see otherwise.  
  
Her dark hair was cut short in a clean, feminine look. Her eyes were a light brown, almost a golden hue. Her face was angular and well chiseled. She looked determined and smart, but with a certain naivity that only came from someone who had been sheltered all their life. It was quite obvious that she had only been roaming the wasteland for a week, as most of her clothing was still reletively clean. Her armor flowed curvaceously over a lean, shapely figure. Her walk was elegant, revealing even more that she was from a "civilized" town.  
  
She ignored the man staring at her oddly when she passed a geiger counter over the well before she drank out of it. As they always said in the vault, "It is better to be safe than to contaminate yourself."  
  
Living in the vault, she became well versed in the art of medicine and technology -- concepts all but lost out in the wasteland. She was on her way to becoming a great doctor, but her intellectual curiosity made her strive for more. She began to listen to tales from merchants and caravan guards about the great wasteland outside the vault, lighting her imagination with fantasies of becoming a traveller herself. When she was nineteen, she packed up and headed out with very little equipment before several other vault dwellers stopped her and made her realize that she was too naive to travel yet. She spent another year training in martial arts and usage of small arms. When she finally convinced her family that she was ready to leave, they tearily said their goodbyes, as if they would never see her again.  
  
That was two weeks ago, She thought. And I haven't been hurt or irradiated yet. Now she was in a little town, with no clue as to what was going on around her. She walked through town, eyes never fixed on one object for more than a few seconds, when she found an old man in tears on the side of the road. She approached the man and knelt down beside him. "What's the matter?" She asked.  
  
The old man suddenly grasped Leela by the shoulders and pleaded, "They took my daughter! Please, bring me back my daughter!"  
  
Lyla stood aghast. For starters, she didn't even know this man. She looked nervous at his shaky grasp. She slowly parted his hands from her shoulders and smiled. "I'll try to find her, sir. What happened to her?"  
  
There was a dull moment of silence that was probably shock. "Oh thank you!" He said. "Raiders, all along the outskirts of town, kidnapped my daughter and are doing god knows what to her!" He choked up. "Oh god..."  
  
Lyla tried to reassure the man but found that more difficult than she had anticipated. "Okay, where are these raiders?" Lyla asked, trying to keep level about the situation.  
  
"On the outskirts, two miles outland. Please, don't let them hurt my baby girl!"  
  
Lyla nodded and started walking to the town boundaries. She tried not to think about what the old man meant when he said they were doing "god knows what" to his daughter. Something about the way he said it made Lyla particularly uneasy. Regardless, she said she would do it, so she kept on walking. Two men started following her a few city blocks later. Carefully, she stopped and turned to them. "Can I help you?"  
  
"You sure are pretty, miss."  
  
Lyla smiled uneasily and slowly slipped her hand to the small pistol behind her. "Thank you." She said.  
  
"Goin' somewhere, pretty?" One of the men asked. The other stood licking his lips like a dog waiting for a meal.  
  
"I'm going to help find someone, someone in trouble." The men started to move closer to her and she in turn withdrew.  
  
Suddenly a man came walking by. Slung over a shoulder was a high-caliber rifle of some sort. His clothes were a dusty brown fashioned out of tanned animal hide. His hair was long and flowing, but well groomed. His face had a trace of stubble indicating that he hadn't shaved in a while. He stood in front of the two men and said calmly, "Earl, Joe, get the fuck out of here!"  
  
"Sorry, Jay." One of them said.  
  
The two men walked away without any hesitation or complacency. Lyla looked at the man who the men referred to as Jay and said, "Thank you, I was afraid that might have gotten ugly."  
  
He smiled. "It's no trouble, miss. Those guys would have deserved whatever they got anyway." He was, she thought, insinuating that she could handle herself in that situation. This made her feel gratified and a little embarrassed at the same time. He continued, "Name's Jay O'Noole. And I'm guessing you're not from these parts."  
  
"No, I'm from the vault north of here."  
  
Jay gave a look of interest. "A vaultie, huh?"  
  
Lyla arched an eyebrow at his comment. "Vaultie?"  
  
"Oh, that's what we call people who still live underground. Heh, seems kinda silly nowadays. The rads are almost gone and most areas are habitable..." Jay stopped when he saw the look on Leela's face. "...So what's your name?"  
  
"Lylandra. Lylandra Pryde."  
  
"Well, nice to meet you." Jay said in a handshake. "Where are you headed?"  
  
"Actually, I'm glad you asked. You see, there's this man back there who's lost his daughter to some raiders and-" Jay cut her off.  
  
"First off, they're not gonna respond to reason. Second, there's no way in hell you can take them all on alone. And third, I'm coming with you." Jay's voice was hard and determined. Lyla smiled and said, "Well, that would be great, seeing as I don't know the area. Lead on!"  
  
* * *  
  
Dash Calhoon sat at the bar in the tavern in downtown Gradysville. He was a gruff man with a hard exterior. His hands were rough and callused from years of work, yet they had the elongated fingers and careful precision of an artist or a doctor. His muscles were not visible underneath his leather jacket and blue denim pants, but the way he carried himself gave him a look of being quite strong. His eyes were a brilliant dark blue, but they were difficult to see under the dim lighting of the bar. His facial features were attractive, but his expression was cold and unyielding. He was twenty-seven, but his worn face looked much older.  
  
Four men walked into the bar and headed for Dash's seat. They were all dressed in two-piece armor that consisted of thin leather straps and metal shoulder pads. One of the men had a mohawk died blue, he was the one who approached Dash. "We have some business to conclude, Calhoon." The man with the mohawk said.  
  
Dash did not respond, or even give the man a look. He stayed at the bar, expression unchanging, with his back turned to the men. Another one of the men, whose head was shaved bald, rushed up to Dash and grabbed him by the shoulder. "You respect the boss, punk!" He shouted.  
  
Dash looked at the bald man indifferently and turned to the man with the mohawk. "What did you want?"  
  
"You cheated us out of that money, Calhoon. We want it back. NOW!"  
  
Dash let out an amused chuckle. "Come now, you honestly think that I cheated you out of that money? I won, fair and square. Now run along home to your leader and tell him I said, 'Go fuck yourself.'"  
  
The man with the mohawk smiled and snapped his fingers. The other men who were with him started to pull out crowbars, knives and other basic implements of destruction. Dash muttered under his breath, "Since you asked for it..."  
  
His motion could not be described. It was so fast the bald man did not even have time to throw up his hands in defense. Dash grabbed him by the neck and pulled out a small knife and pointed it at the bald man's neck. "One step and I cut this baldie's throat!" Dash snapped.  
  
He knew that the others would attack anyway, so slicing the bald man's neck open was no surprise. Dash threw the bald man's corpse into the mass of men and backflipped onto the bar behind him. A few of the attackers attempted to fight Dash on the bar, but they were quickly kicked away. Two of the men tried to tackle Dash, but he leapt from the bar and caught a ceiling fan above them. Dash's weight, combined with the wear and tear on the fan from years of neglect, sent it falling on top of the attackers. Dash, however, gracefully jumped in time to avoid crashing down with the fan. The remaining attackers pulled out crude projectile weapons and started shooting. Dash kicked over a table for cover and drew a pair of Berreta 9mm pistols from concealed holsters in his denims. He waited for the crude, single shot pistols to cease firing, and then he popped up from behind the table and started raining down bullets upon the attackers. Splinters of wood flew everywhere along with the bullet-riddled bodies of the attackers. Plaster from the walls flew off in chunks and rained down on the men as they fell. When it was all over, Dash looked at the chaos he had wrought and put his weapons away. He walked over to the bar where the bartender was crouched under the counter. "Sorry for the mess," Dash said, and he pulled out a bag of coins and set them on the bar. Dash was about to leave when the man with the mohawk, who still had some fight left in him, charged at Dash with a chair leg raised high. As soon as the man came within distance, Dash jumped into the air and delivered a powerful crescent kick to the man's head. The man came down with a crash and impaled himself on the same chair leg he was holding. With the attackers now all dead, Dash turned around and exited the bar.  
  
* * *  
  
Rick Varr staggered to the med-mab, bruised and bleeding, his metal armor warped and dented from bullets. Only half an hour earlier, a very large and vicious raider clan had attacked the Brotherhood of Steel bunker, which Rick was stationed at. Rick finally made it to the med-lab, and searched for stimpacks. Finding some, he began injecting himself, feeling stronger with each dose. Rick saved his remaining few stimpacks, and went to the armory. As he expected, all of the weapons were gone, aside from a single laser pistol and some small energy cell ammunition.  
  
He was about to leave, when he suddenly noticed something in a partially opened storage bin. Rick approached the storage bin, opened it...and smiled. A suit of Brotherhood combat armor was in the chamber. In the past, all initiates wore this. However, as the Brotherhood expanded and gained more members, this modified combat armor became rare and far between, now worn  
only by Paladins, while initiates were downgraded to metal armor. Rick tossed his severely damaged armor away, and donned the new combat armor, which had the Brotherhood emblem printed proudly on the shoulder. Rick searched throughout the outpost for survivors, but found none. Rick sighed in sadness, which seemed to echo throughout the empty halls of the bunker. All of his friends were gone.  
  
Rick realized that no more could be done here. He gathered whatever supplies he could carry, and left the outpost. He would have to find another Brotherhood base, and inform them of what happened. Rick took one last look at the outpost that had been his home for two years and started to walk away.  
  
* * *  
  
Lyla and Jay came to a cliff side area near the raider camp the old man spoke of. The camp was a cluster of tents surrounded by razor wire and wild dogs. Several guards could be seen walking around the camp, but their attention seemed diverted, as no one ever attacked their camp. Lyla turned to Jay. "How are we going to get in there?" She asked.  
  
Jay was quiet for a few seconds while he thought. "We'll have to divert their attention to the other side of the camp. Got any dynamite?"  
  
Lyla found this question odd, and she shook her head. "No, I didn't think I would need any."  
  
Jay nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out a single stick of dynamite. "Luckily, I always keep some around." He gave a wry smile and lit the explosive, then threw it into the camp. The stick hit the ground and exploded, sending a huge cloud of sand and dust into the air. Jay and Lyla used the opportunity to rush down to the camp and move past the guards. Jay used a pair of old pliers to clip through the razor wire and they both crawled through the gap. The guards spotted them, but Jay shot them quickly, along with the dogs that were lurking around the camp.   
  
After a few minutes of searching, Lyla found the entrance to a compound built under the camp. It was a metal door that went underground with a heavy latch on it. She looked closer and discovered that it was made out of material similar to that used in the vault. Gritting her teeth, she cranked the lever and the door hissed open. "It was used recently," She said to Jay. "It opens too easily."  
  
"Maybe they were using it? I don't think it's coincidence that they built their camp on a vault." said Jay.  
  
Lyla shook her head. "No, it isn't a vault. This is a storage locker -- somewhere extra supplies and weapons were kept for after the war." She reached into her backpack and pulled out a flare. "Let's go inside." She said.  
  
They moved quickly through the underground facility -- whatever kind it was. The walls were solid steel with occasional bits of wire protruding from damaged spots. The light was poor, if it was not for Lyla's flare, it would have been almost total darkness. Jay heard a muffled cry coming from the distance. They ran to the sound, but there was a wall of rock and broken metal blocking the way. "Damnit," said Jay. "Is anyone there?"  
  
He put his ear to the wall and heard a soft voice reply back, "Help me!"  
  
Jay stood back and yelled "Whoever's there, get back!"  
  
He fished into his pocket and pulled out another stick of dynamite. They rushed back as the stick exploded and cleared a hole in the wall of rubble. Jay tried to see through the dust, but found it difficult. He called again, "Is anyone there?"  
  
He could hear a faint coughing sound coming from the other side. It was the voice of a young girl. Jay moved in to check for any hazards and Lyla followed close behind. She saw the girl, who looked about twelve years old, and checked her over. "Don't be afraid, I'm a doctor."  
  
This didn't calm the girl down. "That's what *he* said." She cried out. Lyla gave a puzzled look and the little girl pointed to a man crushed under rubble. Lyla felt sick to her stomach. She walked over to Jay and whispered, "This girl's been sexually assaulted. We need to get her out of here right now!"  
  
Jay was still pondering the construction of the facility. "Lyla, if this place was built to survive the war, why did it collapse after when that first stick of dynamite hit it?"  
  
Lyla was about to answer when it became quite clear to her the reason. Her eyes widened in horror and she quickly grabbed the little girl. "Let's move it!" She yelled. Jay didn't hesitate to run as they saw the structure start to fall apart with them inside. They ran as fast as they could, all the while seeing the walls start to bend and shake from the stress. Lyla ran with the little girl in one hand and Jay behind her, the entire structure caving in behind them. Jay jumped from the door and looked back to see a large cloud of dust rise from the entrance. He made it just in the nick of time.  
  
Lyla breathed a sigh of relief, then of regret. "We'll never know what was in there now."  
  
Jay panted and put a hand on Lyla's shoulder. "It's okay, the raiders probably ransacked the place long ago -- hell, that's probably why the damn thing fell apart."  
  
Lyla smiled slightly and looked back at the little girl. Her face was flushed and bruised from being beaten. Her appendages, especially her legs, were covered in scabbed over cuts. Their last sprint from the facility left her exhausted. She started to wobble until, finally, her legs gave out and she lost consciousness. Jay picked her up and started to walk back in the direction of Gradysville. "Come on, Lyla. Let's get this girl home."  



End file.
